Catharsis
by sailormade
Summary: Time passed quickly after that. The distant sound of Clay's voice mingled in with a chorus of others. Lisa could feel herself being moved onto a gurney, and more latex - clad hands on her skin than she could count. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. Fear, as white hot and all-consuming as wildfire, burned through her veins. / Canon Divergent Coda to s2ep18, "Payback."
1. CHAPTER ONE

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who voted in my poll! This story won with 16 first place votes!

—dedicating this one to burnmedown,  
for always leaving the kindest, most well-thought reviews, for the wonderful PMs we've exchanged, and for being the absolute sweetest peach.  
also, #mandyellisdefensesquad _activate. _she's babey and we must protecc.

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**1\. CHAPTER ONE.**

"You're really gonna sit there and tell me that you're thinking about walking away from your dream?"

Clay's words were a hollow-point bullet through the space between Lisa's fourth and fifth ribs—sudden and sharp, _straight to the heart. _Her face flushed with shame; She was so wrapped up in her own problems, and so lost in her own head, that she hadn't realized how selfish she must sound to Clay.

At the end of the day, Lisa knew that she had a choice. She could quit OCS, or she could stay—the choice was there, and it was hers alone to make.

Clay Spencer didn't get a choice. His dream of being of Tier One Operator, one who ran with the infamous Bravo Team, had been blown to hell by a cleverly hidden IED. There was a good chance that Clay would never walk without the help of a cane again—and there Lisa sat on the edge of his hospital bed, talking about walking away from Officer Candidate School because she was too much of a damn coward to face her fears.

Petty Officer Lisa Davis wasn't a Navy SEAL, but she had the emotional availability of one; The angry, defeated look in Clay's eyes set her teeth on edge, made her want to bolt out of the room and into a hail of gunfire. _At least a spray of bullets would make her feel at home. _She curled her fingers into the faux suede of the little grey seal plushie that she bought Clay and held her ground. As much as it hurt to see a close friend confined to the hospital, so battered and broken down that he was almost unrecognizable, walking away would hurt even more.

_Walking away. . . _Lisa thought about that particular course of action a lot lately: walking away from OCS, from her fledgling relationship with Sonny Quinn, from what little family that she had left. But what would that say about her as a sailor in the world's greatest Navy? As an officer in that Navy?

"I'm sorry," She said. The words tasted like gravel and smoke on her tongue—acrid, chalky, and liable to choke her—but it was all that Lisa could think to say.

Clay glanced down at his bruised hands. Lisa glanced out the window. They sat in silence.

She missed Sonny so much that it ached. She would've given anything for one of his big, warm bears hugs, for the sound of his thick texan drawl in her ear reassuring her that everything would be alright.

"D'you. . . I can call the boys, if you want," Lisa offered. "You could say hi to Sonny. He's been asking about you."

_"No,"_ Clay said vehemently, eyes glassy and bright. "I appreciate the offer, Davis, but. . . No. Tell him I'm fine."

"You could tell him yourself, you know. He misses you. So does everyone else. Apparently Jason is running himself in circles, Brock too."

Clay shrugged, but said nothing. Lisa sighed in resignation. She'd hit a brick wall with Clay, and she knew it. His physical injuries might've been on the mend, slowly but surely, but inside he was still an open wound. And the boys of Bravo Team? It didn't take a Master Chief to see that they were the sorest subject of all. Lisa wondered if Clay felt as lost as she did. As alone.

Silence fell between them again. And, like before, Lisa was unsure of what to say. What could she? Nothing short of a miracle from God could help Clay now. His doctors, surgeons, and nurses have done all that they're able. Only time would tell if Clay could operate again. Or stand on his own two feet.

_'What would you want to hear if you were the one stuck in this bed?'_ She thought to herself._ 'What do you need to hear now?'_

Lisa didn't have an answer. Sometimes words weren't enough; She knew that better than anyone.

_'What would you want to hear. . . what would you. . .'_

She couldn't focus, all of a sudden. She was too light-headed. Pain radiated around her midsection; The cramping in her abdomen that had plagued her since her flight landed had gotten worse. . . a hell of a lot worse. The pain made it difficult to concentrate.

Lisa knew that her bruise still looked nasty, as expected, but should it still be hurting? It'd been a couple of days since the accident. Should the pain be wrapping around to her lower back, too? She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that would alleviate the discomfort.

Clay noticed.

"You okay, Davis?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Just—during my last firefighting evolution, I don't know. . . I guess I was a little nervous," Understatement of the 21st Century, but Lisa wasn't about to let that secret slip. "I didn't have a great grip on the hose and when I turned it on it slipped out of my sweaty ass grip and started. . . thrashing around. You know how those damn hoses are. It nailed me right in the gut before it hit the ground. I've got a really gross bruise."

"Did you get checked out?"

Lisa scoffed. "I was already humiliated enough, Clay. If I sulked off to medical over, what, a bruise? I could never show my face at OCS again. I'd be laughed off the compound."

An expression that Lisa couldn't quite place flicked across Clay's face. It was an odd blend of emotion; a little sad, a little fond, a little worried.

"I think you've been spending a little too much time with Jason." He finally said.

Lisa shifted in place again, this time curling her fingers into the seal plushie. She held onto it like a lifeline. The pain was gradually getting worse. The room spun around her. Even sitting, she felt off balance.

"Lisa?" Clay asked.

The concern was clear in his voice. He sat up a little straighter.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," She said, though she wasn't sure if she believed herself or not. "Just, the pain is making me a little nauseous. My stomach has been bothering me since this morning."

"Over a bruise? That's. . . Something isn't right. You need to be looked at. Now. How hard did the end of that hose hit you?"

"Yeah, maybe I. . . I. . ." What was she going to say?

It didn't matter. She was going to be sick.

Lisa stood so that she could make her way to the bathroom, but she only made it a few steps before her knees gave out. She crumpled slowly to the floor.

Pennies. Why could she smell pennies? It was overwhelming. Was she bleeding? She could vaguely hear Clay yelling for help, and yelling something about blood. Blood. . . Where was the blood coming from? Why was she bleeding? Everything below her breastbone hurt. Why did everything hurt? She'd never experienced such painful, debilitating cramps in her life. She couldn't stand. She could hardly breathe.

God, that smell. _Pennies._ She dry - heaved twice before vomiting on the tile floor.

Time passed quickly after that. The distant sound of Clay's voice mingled in with a chorus of others. Lisa could feel herself being moved onto a gurney, and more latex - clad hands on her skin than she could count. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. The disorientation was getting worse; The room wouldn't stop spinning. Fear, as white hot and all consuming as wildfire, burned through her veins. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?

The last thing that Lisa heard before being wheeled out was Clay saying, "You're gonna' be okay, Davis. You're gonna' be fine."

She wasn't so sure.

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This is my first time writing an entire chapter from Lisa's POV, I hope I did her justice! It's late, but I'm posting this update now because I've got a busy day tomorrow, so if you notice any typos or awkward/choppy sentences—never fear! I'll likely come back later and rework any odd sentences and fix any typos I missed. And as always, better summary to come.

Let me know what you guys think! Luv u.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**2\. CHAPTER TWO.**

Lisa wished that she had internal bleeding. It was a grim, insensitive thing to wish for, she knew that, but it would make her situation a hell of a lot simpler. She quietly prayed that Dr. Allen would walk back into the room and tell her that he'd made a mistake, that he accidentally picked up another patient's chart and that the end of the firehose that whacked her did indeed do damage—_that_ was a scenario that made sense.

The actual scenario that Lisa Davis found herself in was a cosmic joke. It had to be. God was laughing at her. Or punishing her. Or both.

_'Stop thinking.' _She thought. _'Just stop thinking for two freakin' minutes.'_

If she didn't, she was going to have a panic attack. She'd already had two in the past forty five minutes, and Dr. Allen had to talk her through both. Her chest still felt sore. Her eyes still felt dry and raw from all the damn crying.

How long had it been since Dr. Allen left the room? Minutes? Hours? How long had it been since she initially collapsed?

Time felt fuzzy and unclear. So did Lisa's head. _So did everything._

She figured that Swanny would wheel Clay in to visit her soon, now that she was alone. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see them or not. She wanted their company, for sure, especially Clay's, but they'd want to know what was wrong with her.

Lisa didn't want to talk about her diagnosis. Not yet. Not ever.

She supposed that she could lie and hope for the best. Dr. Allen told her that there were two outcomes with her condition. If she prayed hard enough, blasphemous as it was, maybe she'd get the latter outcome—_the less complicated one. _With the. . . less favorable outcome, no one would ever have to know. Lying would work. She get back to OCS, to her life.

_'You'd never forgive yourself for lying about this,'_ Her conscience chided._ 'Sonny probably wouldn't either.'_

Lisa flung her arm over her eyes and groaned. Why did she have to be so honest?

She felt like throwing up again. She didn't have a choice; She had to come clean.

As if on cue, Clay rolled into the room. If was surreal to see him bound to a wheelchair, and Lisa's heart bled for him. Seeing Clay Spencer in a wheelchair was like watching a dolphin swimming its microscopic tank at SeaWorld; Clay's freedom was only an illusion. Sure, he wasn't trapped in his bed, but he was still trapped by his circumstance. DEVGRU burned hot in Clay's blood. He'd never be happy again if he didn't get out of that damn wheelchair, one way or another.

"Hey," He said, wheeling to the side of her bed. "You okay?"

_Her_ hospital bed. Oh, how the tables have _so quickly_ turned.

"Yeah, I will be. Just a little dehydrated," Lisa held up her right hand to flash Clay her IV. "Dr. Allen is giving me fluids."

Clay nodded. "Okay, well, that's good. But, what happened? You tanked. . . really fast. Almost took ten years off my already considerably short lifespan. So, ya' know, thanks for that."

Lisa snorted and playfully shoved his shoulder. "Do not _even _joke about that, Clay. Jesus."

"Yeah, well, it's true," He said with a lopsided grin. "So, seriously. What happened? You get hit a little too hard?"

And there it was. _The question. _Lisa took a deep breath; She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, steeling herself—summoning all the courage that she could. Courage. . . It was one of the Navy's big three values. _Honor. Courage. Commitment. _She was well versed in courage. She could do this. She could.

Looking at Clay made confessing a smidge easier. He was a friendly, familiar face. He was her friend. She could trust him.

"So. . . good news first, I guess: I don't have any internal bleeding from my showdown with that godawful hose. It turns out that my ugly bruise is just an ugly bruise. But, ugh, bad news," She fisted her sheets in her right hand, out of Clay's sight, and held them as though they were the only thing anchoring her to the earth. "I'm having a threatened miscarriage."

Clay blinked, as though the information didn't quite register. Lisa didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," He said, furrowing his brows. "Did you say— What?"

"Yup," Lisa flatly confirmed. "I'm knocked up."

The laugh that tore itself from her throat surprised her just as much as it did Clay. It toed the line of hysterical. She gave herself a brief moment to regain her composure before continuing.

"For now, anyway. Like I said, threatened miscarriage. Dr. Allen said it could go either way. I could still lose. . . the fetus," Lisa couldn't bring herself to say the 'B' word. "Or I could get better and me and. . . _it_. . . will be fine."

Clay looked gobsmacked_._ "Wait, hold on. You're telling me that you're—"

She cut him off. "_Don't. _Don't say it. Please. But, for the moment, yes."

Clay reached out and gave Lisa's hand a gentle squeeze. They sat in silence, but unlike before the silence wasn't uncomfortable or forced. Instead, it was calming. That little pocket of silence and Clay's hand wrapped warmly around hers were more comforting than Lisa could ever express.

"Okay, okay." Clay muttered to himself.

Lisa could almost _see_ the gears turning in Clay's head. It was endearing, in way; He was trying to work her situation like a SEAL, as if her issues were his own now and a mission that needed to be resolved. It reminded her of Sonny. Sonny approached most situations like a SEAL too, even the most minute: like trying to make his ridiculous waterbed in the morning.

Lisa's eyes stung. She wished Sonny were here to hold her hand, too.

"What did Dr. Allen say, going forward?" Clay finally asked. "What's the treatment for this?"

"Just bed rest," Lisa said. "There isn't anything else he can do. He's keeping me for another six hours for repeat blood-work to check my hCG levels and another ultrasound, then he'll discharge me. After that, it's just a horrible waiting game."

She squeezed Clay's hand. "You know what's awful? Like, really gross and terrible and awful?"

"I bet you're gonna' tell me."

A tear dripped down Lisa's cheek, and embarrassment flooded through her—embarrassment wrought from letting herself cry in front of two different people today, for getting herself into this situation to begin with, for the incident with that goddamn firehose. If that hose hadn't of slipped out of her grip, if she'd just held on a little tighter. . . Dr. Allen's voice echoed in her mind, telling her what she already knew; _"We don't know the exact cause of threatened miscarriages, Ms. Davis, but trauma to the abdomen can absolutely put you at an increased risk."_ Which, in layman's terms, meant that this was her fault.

"I kind of hope I lose it," Lisa said, breathing hitching over the last three words. "And I know that makes me a terrible human being, _I know it does,_ because a ton of women spends thousands and thousands of dollars on IVF treatments, you know? They're desperate for kids. My mistake is their dream come true. This? Right here? What I'm hoping for? Is their worst nightmare. It keeps them up at night. They cry themselves to sleep over this. But I can't be a— I can't. I can't, Clay, I can't. There's no room in my life or my career for. . . an _it._ . . and I'm— And I can't—"

She couldn't stop rambling on and on; It was a nervous tic that Lisa had learned to hide from a young age.

But this level of panic was different. She hadn't felt this sort of fear since she was a child, since. . .

The panic from earlier rose up within her again, clawing at her lungs and squeezing her throat like a hangman's noose. The room was getting smaller. _And spinning. _Her vision dimmed around the edges. Lisa wanted to fling the covers from her body and run until her legs gave out. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe.

"Okay, okay, hey, it's okay," Clay said, rubbing her arm with his free hand. "Deep breaths, Lisa. It's okay. We'll figure this out. Don't work yourself up. Breathe with me."

Lisa did as Clay told her. She took a slow, deep breath, and then another, and then one more. It helped, but only some.

"Alright, you good?"

She shook her head. "No, not really, but I don't think I'm gonna' have another panic attack so that'll have to do for now, I guess."

"You're not a terrible person, Davis. You're one of the good ones. Right now, you're just. . . scared. And that's okay."

Lisa scoffed and wiped at her wet eyes. "I'm not scared. I'm not scared of anything. I'm gonna' be a big, bad Cake Eater, remember?"

_Maybe. _She had a feeling that the Gunnery Sergeant wouldn't casually overlook a pregnant recruit. If she were lucky, her OCS graduation would be only be deferred.

"You are," Clay said, surprising her. Usually, he'd just laugh at her witticisms and change the subject.

True to SEAL character, Clay wasn't big on the whole sharing-and-caring thing. That was why his next few words, as genuine and heartfelt as they were, touched Lisa so deeply.

"And it's okay," He continued. "Because to tell you the truth. . . I am too, sometimes. When I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't feel my leg at all. When Jace or Sonny call. It's a weird ass feeling, isn't it?"

It was. The fear that gripped her felt archaic, like she'd always lived with it. It froze her down to the core and consumed every part of her. _Swallowed her whole._ It was nothing like the normal, everyday fear that a sailor grew used to feeling while working with DEVGRU. But, like Jason Hayes always said, fearlessness was a habit. . .

"Yeah, it is," Lisa agreed. "I'd rather be back in the burning buildings at Cake Eater Camp."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Clay wasn't as good as schooling his emotions as Jason and Trent; He had a mediocre poker face, at best. Lisa didn't miss the unease that flickered across his face.

He'd had been caught in an IED blast just weeks earlier, and she said that she'd rather be in a burning building—directly after she said that she wanted to have a miscarriage. Christ. Who the hell was she?

Clay opened his mouth partially, like he wanted to say something. He didn't.

"Whose the father?" He asked instead, gently.

_Father. _How could a single word carry so much weight? So much grief? Terror? . . . Joy?

"I don't know." She lied.

Lisa knew who the father was. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. It was Sonny. Not that she could tell Clay that. Or anyone else, for that matter. If their superiors knew about their relationship, they'd both be subject to disciplinary action. She couldn't put either of their careers on the line like that. Bravo Team meant everything to Sonny Quinn. Absolutely everything. She couldn't take that away from him. _She wouldn't. _

"So, there's no one to call?" Clay asked.

Lisa shook her head. "Nope. It's just me and you, Spencer."

Clay didn't look convinced, but decided not to push it. For that, Lisa was grateful.

"So, what time does your physical therapy start?" She asked, hoping to change the subject.

Clay groaned. "Too soon. I guess I should probably wheel my sorry ass back to my room. I'm sure Swanny is trying to figure out how to unlock my phone so he can snoop."

Lisa chuckled. "Think you can come back later? And Swanny too, if he's still hanging around."

"For your ultrasound?" Clay asked, hardly containing the smile on his face. "Yeah. Wouldn't miss it."

Lisa smacked his shoulder. "Hey. _None of that._"

"Ow! What?"

"Smiling."

Clay's smile broadened into a grin. It lit up the room, and for a minute Lisa's world didn't seem so dark.

"I'll be here," She said. "Just shoot me a text."

"You got it," He replied and, with a final wave, wheeled himself out of the room.

The smile didn't slip from Lisa's face until a perky lavender-haired nurse breezed into the room to recheck her vitals. She was chirpy and doe-eyed and Lisa wanted to punch her in the throat.

While Nurse Amanda busied herself with the blood pressure cuff and asked curious questions about what life was like in the Navy, Lisa closed her eyes and thought of Sonny. She thought of his eyes. Of his smile. Of his dimples. Of the soft curve of the smile that he reserved for her and only her. She prayed that he was safe and not out trudging through the jungle with the rest of Bravo Team on some hellbent revenge mission in Clay's honor.

She prayed that he was still alive.

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**A/N: **Next two chapters will (most likely) be from Sonny's POV! Clay whump coming up in Chapter 3, too. Again, I hope I'm getting Lisa's characterization down, haha. Although, I have to say, I think this chapter is 5x better than the first.


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**A/N: **Okay, so. This chapter turned into Clay's POV instead (mostly due to timeline reasons). This chapter & the next both will be Clay's POV, then Sonny's. I've got a plan lol, trust me.

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**3\. CHAPTER THREE.**

Clay couldn't decide who he wanted to hit more: his physical therapist, Lucas, or Swanny.

Both Swanny's crass brand of optimism, which equated to brightly reciting Naval Special Operations slogans such as _the only easy day was yesterday! _and _pain is just weakness leaving the body! _(the second of which was stolen from the Marines, naturally) while he popped wheelies in a wheelchair, and Lucas' ridiculous, chirpy, _you can do it!_ attitude felt much close to a second degree burn than the balm it was intended to be; It was too much hope, too soon. Clay couldn't tolerate the strong implication that he could—_and would_—recover quickly, and well enough to operate again.

Clay was hyperaware of his inability to take more than five or six assisted steps without collapsing, and of the very real possibility that he may never walk without a cane again. His newfound limitations lived in the forefront of his mind, and it took the knowledge of all of the training he'd endured as a SEAL_ and then some_ to keep himself from drowning in the hopelessness and the panic. Who was he, if not a SEAL?

Nothing. That's what.

Hope was a frail, fickle thing; Clay was as terrified of its absence as he was of its presence. Which would devastate him more, he wondered, false hope or no hope at all?

Clay wanted to scream. Wanted to shove his fist through glass and concrete and metal, whatever he could find to make himself ache and bleed. He nearly vibrated with the anger that simmered within him. Every step that he took toed the line of agony; Step. Step. Grunt. Wince. Step. Sigh. Step. Step. Grit teeth. Don't punch Lucas. Don't strangle Swanny. Step. Step.

They were going to have to stop soon. His fucking leg was going to give out after less than twenty steps. Christ.

It wasn't until Lucas said the six magic words, _you've reached your inpatient rehabilitation benchmark,_ and it wasn't until Swanny said, ". . .you're going home, pal," as he helped Clay into his wheelchair that Clay deflated. The anger leeched out of him, and exhaustion and fear took its place; He was a balloon popped, a rucksack empty. The relief was almost too much to bear, and so was the apprehension. The hope that he felt, little as it was in the moment, threatened to lynch him.

How long had he been confined to the walls of this hospital? How many weeks had he endured countless surgeries, tests, and physical therapy? BUD/S had been easier than this particular road to recovery. Hell, dinner was father had been easier, and that was saying something; Clay would take BUD/S and IED blasts over an hour and half alone with Ash Spencer any day.

Home. He was going home. For the first time in over a month, Clay could go outside. He could feel the sunlight on his face, the warmth of it too, and he could enjoy the breeze as it blew through his overgrown hair and smell the goddamn flowers.

For the first time in over a month, Clay could be almost free.

He sank back in his chair, the stiff post - therapy pain already settling into the whole of his body, causing his eyes to water, and glanced up at Swanny. They shared a smile, genuine and soft. Though Swanny had long been out of the Navy, and Clay never stood next to him while blood and fire reigned down around them, they were one and the same. Brothers.

Despite how thoroughly obnoxious he could be, and often was, Clay loved him more than words could say. Just as he loved Bravo Team. _His family. _

"So, your majesty," Swanny said, wheeling Clay out of the therapy room. "Where we headed?"

"Ah—let's drop in on Davis," Clay replied. "She hasn't texted me yet, but staring at her four walls are better than staring at mine."

"Yeah, I hear ya'. That kind of. . . solitary confinement will drive even the toughest sailors crazy, TV be damned."

"Yeah, man, if I have to watch one more episode of Nancy Grace I'm going to off myself. I swear, the pitch of her damn voice gets higher every episode, and the height of her hair."

Swanny laughed. "Like I said, I hear ya'. Hey, ugh, what room was Ms. Davis in again? And floor?"

"Third floor, Maternity Ward," Clay said. "Room 32C."

He wanted to ask how Swanny could've possibly forgotten where Lisa's room was, considering Swanny had just been up there less than an hour and a half ago. But there was a time and place for that argument, and Clay knew how to pick his battles; he'd asked Swanny about his lapses in memory before, and each response he got was icier than the last.

"I gotta' tell you, Clay, I didn't think this was a floor I'd ever need to visit."

The elevator ride up to the third floor was quiet. Unusually so. Swanny, for the most part, had a tendency to be a broken record—which was to say that he never shut up. But today, before PT, he'd seemed... quieter. Swanny seemed lost in his own head more often than not these days. It made Clay anxious. He wanted to pry.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

The elevator dinged, interrupting Clay's train of thought, and he and Swanny made their way out just as a couple came on. A dark skinned woman with her hair twisted up in a fluorescent purple scarf had a newborn in her arms. The blanket that the sleeping baby was wrapped in matched his mother's head scarf, and his father's necktie. It was a sweet sight. _A happy family. _Clay smiled.

As Swanny pushed him toward Room 32C, they caught sight of Nurse Amanda walking briskly out of the room, visibly upset. Clay's breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat. Was Lisa okay? What happened?

"That can't be good." Swanny said, evidently noticing Nurse Amanda's distress too.

"Yeah," Clay replied. "That's what I was thinking."

Swanny wheeled Clay into Lisa's room and, predictably, Lisa didn't look happy. It wasn't sadness that Clay saw, though. It was irritability. She looked how he felt while Swanny and Lucas were crowing about recovery being a marathon, not a sprint. A part of him wanted to chuckle. In that moment, despite the hospital gown and short hair, her expression reminded Clay so much of that day on the C-17 when they first met that it ached; when he first had the privilege of operating with Bravo Team, when Lisa called him _a strap._

The memory was a vivid, bittersweet one. It seemed so long ago, now.

Clay wasn't that impulsive, loud mouthed strap anymore. He felt older than time, world weary and bitter; Most of those whom he loves are dead, and the others indifferent to him. He'd been wounded catastrophically. He was too chickenshit to speak to his brothers on Bravo Team.

At least he had Swanny, for the moment. And Lisa. And _it. _Speaking of. . .

"So, Amanda looked pretty upset. Did something happen?"

Lisa chuckled, then sighed. "Ah, well, I guess there's a possibility that I could've been nicer to her. She's just. . . too damn perky. Every time she opened her mouth it was like nails on a chalkboard. When she was done asking me twenty questions about the Navy, she asked me if I had any names picked out for the inconvenient little creature. I might've bit her head off."

Clay snorted.

"Inconvenient Little Creature?" He asked. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Yes, because that's what it is. A little creature that is inconvenient. This is my body. _Mine. _My body! My uterus! My. . . womb! It doesn't have any right to be here without explicit, written permission."

Clay and Swanny exchanged amused glances, hardly repressing a laugh at both Lisa's choice of words and the seriousness in her voice. She spoke with her hands, gesturing wildly.

It was a relief to see Lisa joking about her situation a little more, panicking about it a little less. Even if she was still referring to her potential child as _it _and _inconvenient little creature. _

"Well," Swanny said, clearing his throat. "It seems to me that there _was _some degree of _permission _to, of course, end up with your. . . creature."

Lisa threw her pillow at him. "Hey! I am a red blooded American woman. I have _needs,_ okay?"

Clay threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, okay, Davis, I— I really don't need to hear about your needs."

However, Clay would very much like to know who the father of Lisa's little creature was. He knew that she knew. It wouldn't be like her to not know. He wasn't going to push the matter though, not yet. Lisa was smiling, and Clay didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.

Unfortunately, Dr. Allen chose that moment to breeze into the room. He was an older man, lean and tall, with short salt and pepper hair and a warm smile. The smile melted from Lisa's face, and her expression grew tight, as though she were bracing for impact.

Though, in some ways, Clay figured that she was. Out of the corner of his eye, he was Swanny give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Clay's mind drifted back the happy purple-clad family that he and Swanny passed coming out of the elevator. He couldn't help but wonder, could Lisa ever be that happy with a child? Ray certainly was, and Jason, and they were Navy too.

"How're we doing, Ms. Davis?" Dr. Allen asked, pushing the ultrasound machine from its place in the corner of the room to Lisa's bedside.

She eyed it warily, as though it were a snake poised to strike.

"Better," Lisa said, and Clay couldn't tell if she was lying or not. "I just. . . needed some time, I think. This was a shock, that's for sure."

Dr. Allen nodded. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. Any more cramping? Bleeding?"

Lisa shook her head. "Nope."

"That's an excellent sign," Dr. Allen said, lifting a small tube from the ultrasound machine's side-compartment. "Alright, Ms. Davis, let's get a look at the little one. Lift your gown for me, please."

Something close to panic flickered across Lisa's face, but in true Navy-bred fashion, she disguised it with a wry smile and did as she was asked. She lifted her gown to expose her flat, though admittedly bloated abdomen, and something in Clay's chest grew tight. _'Fragile' _was the absolute last word Clay would ever use to describe Lisa Davis, she was ten pounds of dynamite in a five pound package, but right now. . . She looked how Clay felt; Fragile. Small. Out of depth. Alone.

He reached for her hand and held it.

Lisa didn't flinch when Dr. Allen squirted the gel on her bare skin. She was frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights.

Clay squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

"Alrighty," Dr. Allen said, pressing the ultrasound wand over the gel. "Let's see what we've got here. Let me know if the pressure gets uncomfortable, Ms. Davis."

She nodded, but said nothing.

The room grew quiet. Clay wasn't sure which outcome he was rooting for—Well, he was, actually; The outcome that would make Lisa happiest. He just wasn't sure which outcome that was. Her feelings on the matter were more than a little mixed.

Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Dr. Allen said nothing, just continued to move the wand across Lisa's abdomen and search the ultrasound machine's screen. Clay didn't hear a heartbeat. And neither did Dr. Allen, apparently. His pinched expression said it all.

Clay waited with baited breath. Lisa squeezed his hand harder.

Then, all of a sudden, there it was—the rapid _thump thump thump thump thump _that they'd all been waiting so eagerly for.

Dr. Allen's grinned. "There we are! Nice, strong heartbeat. I had a good feeling about you, Ms. Davis. Looks like I was right."

Clay felt himself grinning, too. He pried his eyes away from the screen to glance at Lisa and Swanny; Swanny looked relieved, smile open and soft, eyes wide, and Lisa looked pale as death.

Reality was setting in, Clay supposed. The heartbeat, that was what made the situation real. The inconvenient little creature was alive.

"Alright," Dr. Allen began. "It's look like you're at about. . . Oh, I'd say thirteen weeks. Baby is two point three inches long. About the size of a lime. Everything is looking good, Ms. Davis. It was touch and go for awhile, but I doubt you have anything to worry about from here on out. Just try and take it easy this week, alright? Now, how many pictures would you like?"

Lisa remained still and silent. If she actually were a deer standing in the headlights, she'd have been struck by the oncoming vehicle by now.

"Lisa?" Clay asked.

Dr. Allen switched off the ultrasound machine. "Ms. Davis?"

Lisa leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited on the floor.

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sorry for the wait! here's chapter three. next chapter: clay & swanny go home & clay discovers the true extent of his limitations, as well as some secrets from swanny, & lisa has more than one phone call to make.

NOT BETA'D BECAUSE WE DIE LIKE MEN HERE.


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait! Next two chapters will be from Sonny's POV, so expect plenty of action and lot of Bravo Team. And, ya' never know, someone might get hurt. . . Or certain things might be said. . . After this chapter, the ball for this story really starts rolling! I know these last four have been a little slow, but it's for good reason! You'll seeeeee.

* * *

**04\. CHAPTER FOUR.**

Clay and Lisa were both discharged from the hospital around five o'clock; Swanny drove them back to Clay's apartment, and Clay spent the entire ride home alternating his attention between Lisa, who was sitting stoically in the backseat with her purse clutched in her lap like an oversized stress-ball, and the little black and white photo in his hands.

_The Photo._ Clay wasn't sure why he couldn't pry his eyes off of it. It was black and white, grainy, and the baby (marked with "BABY!" in ugly Arial font) looked like little more than a smear on the surface of the photo-paper. But holy shit. It was a baby. Or, well, the beginnings of a baby, anyway. And at the very top, Lisa's name was printed. . . Along with some other miscellaneous information that Clay couldn't decipher.

It was hard to see Petty Officer Lisa Davis as anything other than that; a Petty Officer in the United States Navy, a Sailor. She was tough as nails and twice as clever, and she'd helped pull Bravo Team out of the fire on more than one occasion.

But she was warm too, behind all the sarcasm and witticisms and high walls, and surprisingly big-hearted and kind—protective of the little family that she'd built with Bravo Team to an almost willfully stupid degree. Loyal to an absolute fault.

Hm. Something they have in common, then.

It was easier than Clay expected to see her as a mother. Hard, yes, but not impossible by any stretch of the imagination.

Clay chanced a glance at her in the rear-view mirror. Lisa still had her purse in her lap, holding onto it like an anchor, and she was still looking out of the widow, watching the world fly by. She hadn't said anything the entire drive. Swanny filled the silence with running commentary about. . . Well, just about everything, except for what was going on with Lisa. He rattled on about what he might make for dinner tonight, and about the unseasonably cool weather, and about what Bravo Team might be up to at that particular moment in time. Clay didn't miss the hints that Swanny kept dropping to Bravo, but he was so damn relieved that Swanny was back to his chatty, loud - mouthed self that he couldn't bring himself to feel too annoyed.

Clay knew that he needed to call the boys of Bravo. Sonny, at the very least. He just. . . wasn't ready yet.

He peeked at Lisa again. She looked dangerously close to tears, but Clay knew that she was too proud of let them fall. Now that the initial panic had passed, and the reality of her situation had well and truly set in, Lisa would be a stone.

He sighed quietly. He wished that he could do something to help, or to ease her anxieties at the very least.

"Alright, ladies," Swanny said, pulling into a handicapped parking spot; He hung his parking sticker on the mirror and switched the engine off. "We have arrived."

"Finally," Lisa said. "I need to piss like a damn racehorse."

Clay snorted. "Davis, has anyone ever told you what a classy lady you are?"

"You think that's classy? Wait till' you see me pee in a Snapple bottle," She opened the door. "I've got skills, Spenser."

Clay's retort was cut off by his own door being opened; Swanny had opened it for him, and was waiting with his walker. Jesus, how did Clay miss Swanny getting out of the car and popping the trunk?

Oh, right. Lisa smiling for the first time since they left the hospital. Clay was too busy enjoying the moment to notice anything else.

The warmth that flooded his chest was sudden and odd, but painfully familiar; It's the same warmth that warmed his heart when Sonny ruffled his hair, or Jason laughed that exuberant, belly deep laugh of his, or Trent excitedly showed off pictures of his twins. Clay had thought of Bravo Team as his brothers for as long as he'd been running with them, but he'd only ever thought of Lisa as his friend. And, truth but told, after everything they'd been through, that wasn't quite right anymore. She was more than a friend; She was his sister and, just like with his brothers, he'd do absolutely anything to protect her. And the Inconveniently Little Creature, of course.

Clay had never been more grateful that his apartment was on the bottom floor. The walk to his front door, short as it was, felt more akin to a twelve mile soft-sand run than a short stroll.

"You can leave that shower chair in the hall, man," Clay said when he noticed Swanny carrying the godforsaken shower chair the hospital had given him. "I have no intentions of using it."

Lisa lifted a brow. "You could always take a bath instead. I've got two bath-bombs in my purse."

"You know what? That doesn't surprise me." Clay said, half-laughing.

The relaxed, chatty Swanny from the drive home had vanished, Clay noticed when he turned to look at him, and the considerably more pensive Swanny from the hospital had returned. Swanny looked as though he wanted to say something. Clay couldn't imagine what. They'd shared so much while he was recovering. . . What couldn't Swanny tell him now? Was it because Lisa was there?

Swanny unlocked the door, flipped on the light, and stepped inside. Clay and Lisa followed.

Post - It Notes. His entire apartment was littered in brightly colored Post - It Notes. Clay stood there, shocked, and peered around; They were everywhere, stuck all over his walls, on his refrigerator, behind his door. . . Absolutely everywhere. Had Swanny's memory problems gotten that bad? Clay knew that he could be forget sometimes, but Christ. . .

"Cmon," Lisa said, a little distantly. She wrapped a hand around Clay's bicep and guided him to the couch. "You should probably sit down."

Clay didn't argue. Sitting down sounded damn good. Clay couldn't remember the last time he felt this exhausted.

"You probably should too." He said.

Lisa snorted, but sat down next to him anyway. "I'm pregnant, ya' know. Not an invalid."

"Like me?" Clay asked, smiling wryly.

Lisa's face fell. "Shit, no, I didn't mean it like that, Clay. I'm sorry."

Clay shrugged. "No—I know. It's fine. Just—we're pretty bad at this, huh?"

"What? Existing outside of the Navy like normal people?" She paused. "Yeah, we're. . . pretty sucky at it. Have we ever had, like, a real, non-work related conversation?"

The front door shut with a click, and Swanny's voice interrupted them.

"If you two chuckle-heads are done whining about your reduced circumstances," He said, holding up his cell phone. "Why don't you tell me what you want for dinner? It's late, so I'm ordering out."

Clay and Lisa exchanged looks.

"Pizza's fine." Clay said. "Get, like, three extra larges? And bread sticks?"

"Eh," Lisa countered. "We should get Chinese."

"What? No. Chinese food takes _so long_ to order, and you always end up with burnt rice and. . . lukewarm green shit."

Lisa folded her arms across her chest. "Yeah, but the baby wants eggrolls."

Swanny laughed.

Clay gave her an incredulous look; He couldn't believe that she'd just referred to the Inconvenient Little Creature as a baby, especially considering how long she'd referred to said creature as "It." That had to be a good sign, right? Acceptance, and all that?

"The baby wants eggrolls?" He parroted.

"And sweet and sour chicken. With extra sauce. Oh, and fortune cookies."

"Welp," Swanny said. "You heard the lady with the baby. Chinese it is."

Dinner came and went without incident. Swanny ordered their Chinese, much to Clay's exasperation, and the three (and a half?) of them sat on the couch and watched a marathon of F.R.I.E.N.D.S until Swanny's snoring drowned out the sounds of Ross Geller's complaining. The evening had been much nicer than Clay expected it to be, circumstances considered; He never dreamed that he'd have friends around while he recovered. It was a pleasant surprise.

"I guess I should probably get back to my hotel," Lisa said, stifling a yawn. "I've gotta' fly back to OCS tomorrow and give Gunnery Sergeant the news. She's. . . gonna' be thrilled."

She stole a piece of sesame chicken from Clay's container. He let her.

"You know," Clay began."This isn't you quitting, Davis. If you want a kid, and you wanna' be an officer, you can. You can have both, if that's what you want. You can have more than one dream, you just have to be stubborn enough to chase them both."

He wasn't quite sure what was compelling him to tell Lisa this, but he wanted—needed—her to know. She could hide her tears, and she could put on a brave face for the rest of the world, but Clay could feel the anxiety and indecision rolling off of her in waves. He could see the fear in her eyes. The uncertainty of everything was the worst part; It was the uncertainly that would pick you apart at the seams, little by little. Clay knew the feeling well.

"Do you?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I did."

Lisa glanced down at her hands. Clay sensed that she knew he'd rather talk about anything but.

"I don't know what I want." She quietly admitted.

"I don't either." Clay agreed.

He and Lisa were as Navy-bred as they came. Who the hell were they without the Navy? Nobody they'd recognize in the mirror, that's for damn sure. The Navy was all they knew, and all that they believed in. **Honor. Courage. Commitment.** It all came back to the Navy.

_The uncertainty of everything was the worst part. . . _

Lisa cleared her throat. "Well, we're both going to be stuck on shore - duty for the foreseeable future, so we can figure it out together, I guess."

Clay smiled. That didn't sound half bad at all. "You, me, and Swanny makes three?"

She unwrapped her sixth fortune cookie of the evening. "He'll be our practice kid. If we can keep him alive, we can keep a baby alive. Plus, we can confine a baby to a playpen."

"And Swanny's already potty trained, so. We don't have to clear that hurdle just yet."

For the first time in what felt like years, Lisa laughed, genuine and bright with her head thrown back—though it was cut short by a yawn. Clay yawned too.

"I guess we should probably head to bed," Clay said. "You know, you can just crash here and I can drive you back to your hotel in the morning. You can steal a pair of sweatpants and bunk with me. It really is late."

He could see the gears turning in Lisa's head as she considered the offer. The allure of a warm bed, and friendly company, must've been far too tempting to turn down, because she quickly agreed.

"On one condition," She said with a decidedly sly grin.

Clay lifted a brow. "And what's that?"

"I'm not sleeping on Stella's side."

Clay flicked her on the temple. She stuck her tongue out at him. Next to them, Swanny continued to snore.

And for a brief moment, everything was okay.

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any predictions for the next couple of chapters?

oh, and i'm fully aware that i'm abusing em - dashes, commas, and semi - colons for the aesthetic. #can'tbetamed


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